“But, my dear girlie, that is absurd. At that rate you will never be able to go into society at all. I don’t understand your beliefs, and I have no wish to make you act against your principles, but I really cannot see the connection between spiritual religion and what we eat and drink. Those dietary laws were excellent in their day, no doubt, but you must remember that civilization has advanced since then, and we are not living in the Holy Land.” “That is not the question,” answered Celia, hesitatingly. “You do not understand, Lady Marjorie, and I am not qualified to explain. However, I will pocket my religious scruples for once. I must let Mrs. Friedberg know that I shall not be home.” She put on her hat and jacket, and they sauntered down Regent Street to the post office, where Celia despatched a telegram. She was anxious for Mrs. Friedberg to see her friend, so they arranged to go to Maida Vale in the afternoon. “How empty London is just now,” Lady Marjorie observed as they came out of the office. “There seems to be nobody in town.” Celia glanced at the people who thronged the pavements, and at the ceaseless stream of traffic in the street. “Nobody?” she repeated, questioningly. “No society people, I mean,” explained Lady Marjorie, for her edification. “I suppose they are all away.” It was quite half-past one by the time they reached Prince’s restaurant, for they made an exhaustive survey of the shops on either side of Regent Street, and purchased a few articles, on the way. Almost simultaneously to their arrival, a gentleman drove up in a private hansom, and addressed Lady Marjorie with a cordial greeting. He was a man of about thirty-five, of professional appearance, with a genial clean-shaven face and clear-cut features. His manner betokened the polished man of the world, and he had a way of treating ladies with that old-fashioned courtly deference which in these days has, unfortunately, almost been relegated to a bygone generation. Leading the way to a small table which had been reserved for him, he apologized for his wife’s absence, and plunged into a conversation on musical matters, which immediately put Celia at her ease. He was acquainted with most of the professors at the Academy, and knew Emil Lambert well. “You are in good hands,” he assured her encouragingly. “Lambert is a splendid man. You may consider him somewhat dilatory in bringing you out, but you must not mind that. I do not suppose he will allow you to sing at a single Academy concert until you are quite qualified to start on your professional career. He is very jealous for his reputation, and always keeps his pupils in the background until he is sure that they will do him credit.”